


Where My Demons Hide

by ForelornFaeiry



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), College Student Lance (Voltron), Cuban Lance (Voltron), Hunk & Lance (Voltron) Friendship, Hunk (Voltron) is a Good Friend, Insecure Lance (Voltron), Keith and Shiro are Siblings, M/M, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, Painter Shiro, Past Cancer, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Pining Lance (Voltron), Pining Shiro (Voltron), Rating May Change, Relationship(s), Slow Burn, more tags to come, past klance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-03-23 05:16:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13780503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForelornFaeiry/pseuds/ForelornFaeiry
Summary: Maybe all it takes to get your passion back, is for someone to give you that final push.





	1. Chapter 1

Quietness seeps into the room as the distant sounds of cars passing on the street become more and more distant, like a far-off dream. A figure lies on the bed, staring off into the blank ceiling, staring for so long that his eyes trace shapes into the bumpy lumps that cover his roof. His right arm itches, but he ignores it as he allows the sunlight to fill his brightening room through the slits of his window shades.

God, how long has it been since sunlight filled every shadow in his room? He had long forgotten, and if he was being honest, he couldn't care anymore.

Really, nothing seemed to matter anymore. Things that once filled him with passion, with drive, now seem meaningless. Things that once made him laugh, now just stare at him in boredom, and he couldn't tell how he was supposed to feel about it.

How are you supposed to feel about something you can no longer remember?

The thought sends a shiver up his spine; he was spiraling, and he knew he was. A trait he had picked up only a year ago.

Wow. Only a year huh.

The man rolls over onto his left side, his right arm being even more itchy than before, but he ignores it once more. It would do him no good to scratch, to think of what occurred on his right side.

And suddenly, it's not quiet anymore. 

The thoughts he half-heartedly tried to keep at bay now come back at full force, screaming, yelling...

No, wait, it was just his phone.

Shiro rolls over onto his right side and takes the phone off the charger. Old habits die hard, it seems.

"Hello?"

He says, bored. A part of him feels bad; he knows that the person on the other line is only trying to check up on him, make sure he's okay.

_"Shiro? Can you hear me?"_

"Yes Keith. What do you need?"

He really doesn't mean for his voice to be so curt, so dismissive. Keith pauses for a long while, making the guilt truly settle in.

_"Well, I was just calling to see if you were awake."_

"And if I wasn't?"

_"I'd have to come wake you."_

The corners of his lips tilt upward the slightest bit, but he can't quite bring himself to commit completely. Maybe this will get easier the long he tries.

"Well I'm awake. Did you need something else?"

_"I Just wanted to remind you about your therapy appointment at 11. Did you forget?"_

Ah, yes. Therapy, the place that he was supposed to be the safest, and yet, it was the place where he was the quietest.

"I haven't forgotten." He lies. "You don't need to check on me every ten minutes Keith."

As Keith doesn't respond, he begins to kick himself yet again. He didn't mean for his voice to be so defensive, so hard. This was the hardest thing for him, coming back and having to relearn all his old relationships.

"Keith, I'm-"

_"No, it's okay. I'm overbearing, I get that."_

Guilt stabs at his heart and he hated himself even more.

_"I just want you to know that I care for you, and that no matter how much you push away, I'm not going anywhere."_

He takes a moment, to think, to let Keith's words sink in. He didn't deserve Keith's words, didn't deserve Keith's love; yet he was grateful for them, that even with all the shit he put Keith through over the year, the younger man still trusted him.

Still loved him.

"I know, I'm sorry. I just need more time."

_"I get that."_

The unspoken question laid there between them, the both of them ignoring it. He clears his throat, incapable of doing anything else at the moment.

"Well, thanks for calling Keith."

_"Of course. Wanna get dinner tonight?"_

Shiro pauses; typically, after an appointment with his therapist, it leaves him even more broken than he already was.

"No, but tomorrow definitely."

He says, already envisioning his plans to get drunk and throw shit. He can hear the phone on the other end shift slightly, like Keith was nodding.

_"Got it. Text me later."_

"Will do."

He pulls the phone away and hangs up without a proper goodbye; ever since they were children, they had this method, so it didn't really fill him up with pain. The rest of the conversation, however, was a different story.

Rather than indulging his demons, Shiro decides to push himself off the comfort of his bed and swing his legs off the right edge. His left hand grips the edge as he lets out a long sigh. He reaches to the bedside table and takes out a prosthetic arm before attaching it to his right stump.

Even though he got one of the best prosthetics in the country, in the world, a stab of hatred runs up his spine and raises the hairs on his left arm.

He didn't deserve it.

He didn't deserve the arm, he didn't deserve Keith, he didn't deserve to be drawing the breath he currently exhaled. He didn't deserve any of it, and yet here he was, whining to himself like the little bitch that he was. Here he was, sitting on the comfort of his bed, taking borrowed oxygen, about to go to a court ordered therapist who he would likely not talk to.

It was exhausting; every single bit of it. The worst of all?

He hated pretending that he was supposed to be grateful that he was alive.


	2. Chapter 2

Shiro gave a heavy sigh as he ran his human hand through his hair, giving it a slight tug. 

Therapy had been exhausting; how it can be so exhausting when literally only two words had been said the entire hour was lost to Shiro, but he came out tired and itching to do something. Maybe it was the lingering words his therapist had said to him, or the last promise a certain someone made him make. 

Maybe it was just time.

So there he was, standing in line, six canvases shoved under his arm of various sizes, a basket full of paint hanging from his hand, steadily ignoring the sympathetic looks people were casting him, and the small murmurs being whispered as people stared. 

He wanted to get out of there. 

No; he  _needed_ to get out of there.  

Tapping his foot on the ground impatiently, Shiro tried to focus his attention elsewhere so he wouldn't snap at all these innocent people. After all, it wasn't their fault. Human curiosity often got the best of people, even if it was rude. He couldn't get mad at them for that, and it wouldn't be a good situation if he ended up losing his mind on all these innocent bystanders. 

But just as Shiro was about to lose his mind, he was finally called up to the cashier. He quickly went, setting the basket down first and then adding the canvases; he didn't want them to get pressed upon, or else that would ruin them. 

"Did you find everything alrig-  _oh_."

Shiro froze; he'd know that  _oh_ anywhere. He heard it all the time, from everyone, anyone he would or could come in contact with. One would think that after hearing it all the time, from everyone and anyone, he'd be used to it.

Honestly, he should be used to it by now.

"Yeah, I found everything alright. How has your day been?"

Shiro asks politely, trying to get the lady's eyes away from his fake arm and back to him. The question works, and the lady begins scanning his items, her face soft as she avoids eye contact.

"Oh, my day has been fine, thank you. Got a lot of projects planned?"

Shiro only hums in agreement; he doesn't feel like explaining what he's going to be doing with any of them, and it's not like she actually cares.

"Can I just say... Thank you for your service."

The woman says softly, and Shiro forces a smile. He's gotten this sentence one too many times, so he's learned to just roll with it instead of trying to correct her. 

"Your total will be $32.57."

She finally meets his eyes and gives him a soft smile as Shiro takes his wallet out and swipes his card. A receipt rolls out and she takes it before handing it to him with another smile. 

"Have a great day!"

"To you as well."

Shiro takes his bags and leaves, his eyes gazing at the receipt. He notices that she gave him a military discount without even asking him for a military ID, and a wave of guilt crashes over him.

Military discounts were for people who actually went and served in the military, not for unlucky lucky cancer patients.

And honestly, what is Shiro supposed to say to those who automatically assume he's a solider? Because telling them  _No, I didn't lose my arm to a bomb while I was defending our country, I lost it to bone cancer_ doesn't seem to have a big of a punch. People get almost disappointed, and treat him terribly. Like how dare he allow them to believe things about him! How dare he live his life without going into the military!

So, Shiro just doesn't correct anymore.

But that doesn't make it right.

**x.x.x**

Two hours later, and Shiro is still sitting there. Sitting in front of a blank canvas in his art room, trying to decide what to paint. God it was never this  _hard_ before, pictures and meanings just springing to mind all hours of the day, sometimes even in the late night. Shiro would sometimes jolt awake in bed and would run to the art room, refusing to sleep again until the canvas conveyed the picture in his mind. 

Now he just sat here, unable to see anything.

Shiro reaches for the glass of whiskey perched on the table beside his easel and takes a long swing, his eyes never leaving the canvas. Art used to be so much easier when He was around. 

And just like that, Shiro was chocking.

Because of  _course_ his brain would have thought of Him as he was drinking, that was apparently the only time his brain allowed him to think of Him. And how fucking rude was that? After all the beautiful things that happened between them, it wasn't fair that Shiro could only think of Him in times when he least expect it. Not when His personality offered such light, such passion in Shiro's life. 

_He shouldn't be remembered like this..._

Shiro thought to himself. But god, it was so hard to remember him in such a way that wouldn't be "bad". Nothing Shiro _did_ felt good, felt right. Every attempt just left Shiro feeling more empty, more hollow, and all he wanted to do was scream into the void. He could never be remembered in any way that Shiro could come up with, and how fair was that? How fair was it that He was one of the greatest things in Shiro's life and Shiro can't even allow himself to remember Him properly? 

Feeling a surge of rage, Shiro applies some paint onto his palette, dips his brush into it and swipes it furiously over the canvas, his eyes not seeing the color. He repeats the action, this time with a different color, and does it again and again.

Shiro's angry.

He's sad.

He's broken.

_He's gone._

Shiro pauses, panting heavily. The canvas is a mess of colors that don't match, some of them blending together and creating whole new colors. Tears drip from Shiro's eyes and he falls onto his seat, pressing his human hand to his face as he lets out a sob.

For the first time in a year, Shiro finally put paint back onto the canvas.

And yet, He wasn't there to see it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> So I meant to get this chapter out yesterday, but I was caught up in some birthday plans and didn't get around to it, so happy late birthday! It's a present from me to you ;) Anyways, what did you think?? Let me know in the comments! 
> 
> Until next time!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the slow burn from hell and I'm not apologizing.

Shiro lays in his bed, his blanket tangled around his legs and his eyes staring at shadows dancing on the walls. He had been laying there for too long, a slow headache creeping up on the back of his neck and his eyes creating shapes and stories from things that didn't exist. Shiro lets out a small sigh and tucks his head further into his pillow, tears pricking at his grey eyes.

God, how many more times would he cry before it would finally be enough?

Today was going to be a bad day. If his unwillingness to get out of bed wasn't an indication enough, then it was definitely the mess he had made last night that was just begging to be cleaned that told Shiro that today was going to be another bad day. There were times that he resented his well-known knowledge of himself, and today was one of them; just once, all he wanted was to have a good day. But apparently, that was too much to ask of the demons that plagued his already broken mind. 

Shiro's phone began ringing shrilly, and for a moment, Shiro thought about letting it go to voicemail and spending the whole day just feeling miserable for himself and not leaving his bed at all.

It was exactly that tempting thought that made Shiro reach for the phone.

"Hello?"

_"Shiro? Can you hear me?"_

"Yes Keith. What do you need?"

Deja vu of yesterday. Wow, had it really only been a day since he talked to his little brother? Somehow, it felt like it had been a lifetime ago.

And maybe, in some way, it had been.

_"Oh, I was just calling to check up on you."_

_Just making sure you were still alive._ The unspoken words shone in Keith's unspoken meaning; maybe if it had been some other day, Shiro could have appreciated that Keith was just concerned for him and loved him. If it had been some other day, Shiro could have brushed off the unspoken meaning and maybe pretend that the meaning didn't exist. Maybe if it had been some other day, Shiro could have laughed it off, changed the subject, and it would go unspoken, not talked about and would fade into nothingness until Keith brought it up again only for the cycle to continue.

However, today was not that day.

"Keith, I don't need you to check up on me everyday. I'm a grown ass man who can take care of himself. I'm not some poor kid you take care of and who needs your protection, okay?"

Shiro snaps, throwing the blankets off his legs and standing up. He doesn't bother to put his prosthetic on, instead journeying into the kitchen, ignoring the mess in the living room. He props his phone between his shoulder and his cheek, grabbing a new glass to pour the awaiting whiskey on the counter into. 

_"I know Shiro, I'm just concerned about you, you know that. I don't see you as helpless, no matter how much you try to make it out that I do."_

Shiro pauses in him pouring himself his whiskey. Guilt was starting to settle in, and as much as he hated to admit it, he knew that Keith was right. Shiro gave a sigh, transferring the phone from the crook of his shoulder to hold it better in his hand, pressing it against his cheek.

"Keith, I'm-"

_"It's been over a year now Shiro. You need to move on."_

Keith interrupted, his voice soft and unsure, like he was speaking to a frightened animal, one that could run off at any moment. Shiro's breath hitched in his throat and he felt that all too familiar pain come flooding back to his chest.

Move on? Just like that? To pretend that His ghost doesn't still haunt Shiro's apartment? Move on? As if nothing between them happened, like it was all one too pleasant dream? God, how could Shiro? No, He was too far ingrained in Shiro's life to pretend that He never existed, never influenced Shiro. Didn't Keith realize that every breath Shiro took was a breath stolen from Him? Didn't Keith realize that everything Shiro did, he did for Him? Didn't Keith realize that even though a year had passed, He was still the most important, the most relevant thing, no,  _person_ in Shiro's life? Move on? As if every kiss shared, every promise, every touch never happened? To pretend that Shiro wasn't so  _broken_ , wasn't so messed up? Move on? How could he?

Instead of expressing all of this to Keith though, Shiro chose to hang up the phone without another word. He threw the phone down onto the counter with a loud clatter and lifted the waiting glass of whiskey to his lips with shaky fingers,Keith's words still replaying in his head. 

_You need to move on._

"Fuck!"

Shiro screamed, throwing his glass the breakfast bar and smashing it on the adjacent wall, panting as he watched that amber liquid drip towards the floor.

**x.x.x**

A heavy silence fell upon the three men at a nice restaurant, their silence only being filled with the laughter of those around them and the gentle  _clinking_ of metal forks against glass plates. Shiro sat across from his brother and his brother's boyfriend, who kept glancing between the two brothers with an anxious look resting between his thick eyebrows.

"Would you stop looking at me like that?"

Shiro snapped suddenly, gripping his fork tightly. Keith's eyes instantly narrowed and he reached for his boyfriend's hand, clasping their fingers together tightly. 

"Shiro, you can't talk to Hunk like that!"

"I'll talk however I damn well please to whomever I damn well please when they keep giving me that look!"

"What look Shiro!?"

"That One!"

Shiro roared, pointing accusingly at Hunk's confused but concerned face. Shiro could tell that his temper was rising and that he was taking it out on Keith and Hunk, but he was too far gone to stop himself before he said something he would regret.

"That 'oh poor Shiro, who lost his arm to bone cancer and his long-time boyfriend and quite possibly his future husband to cancer! Let's pity him because he's still grieving the life of his one true love and be extra careful with, because he could snap at any possible second!' look! I get it every time I hang out with you guys, and I fucking hate that look! I'm not a fragile baby Keith, I'm just hurting in an endless ocean of abandonment and self loathing and I  _don't need that look_."

At some point in Shiro's mini speech, he had risen to his feet and had apparently not stopped for breath. When he finished talking, he realized that the whole restaurant was staring at him and everything was silent, save for the ragged breaths Shiro was taking. He looked around the room at all the faces staring at him, and found that every single one of them held that sane, pitiful look.

Shiro had just spilt his life story to tons of strangers, and they were all looking at him with the same look he hated receiving. Shiro took another shaky breath before turning and fleeing the restaurant, ignoring Keith's calls of his name.

_Shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments keep me going and Kudos let me know you love it!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry it took so long to update. I had a lot going on and was finding it hard to find motivation to write. But, here's the next chapter!

Not for the first time, Shiro regretted being alive.

He regretted the fact that he got to  _live_ , that he got to inhale every breath, exhale every time; sometimes he wished that he would choke on that precious air, choke until he couldn't breathe anymore and finally,  _finally,_ got to be put to rest. Honestly, it was unfair that Shiro wasn't already. There were so many other people, people who deserved it more than he did. So many more people who were rotting in the dirt while Shiro got to stay in his bed and regret being alive. So many families mourning the ones they loved while he got to mope about. So many people who could actually make a difference in the shitty, shitty world they lived in, and yet, their difference would never be made. Their difference would never be made because here was Shiro, living, breathing  _their_ air, eating  _their_ meals, hating the life  _they_ should have been given. So many other people should have been alive.

People like _Him_.

Shiro curled tighter into a ball, his tears streaming over his scarred nose and dripping onto the bed sheets. God, why was life so hard without him? It's been over a year; Shiro knew that Keith was right, that he needed to get over Him and move on with his life; after-all, that  _is_ what He told Shiro to do. But Shiro couldn't do it. Shiro couldn't be alive if He wasn't, and here they were, a year later.

He was dead, and Shiro was not.

Shiro hated that it seemed like every day he was in bed. But god, it was so fucking hard to do anything else. It was so easy to just stay in bed and allow his grief to eat him. It was so easy to hate himself, hate the world that he lived in. It was so fucking easy, and yet, here he was. Directly disobeying His last wishes for Shiro; then again, Shiro did warn Him that this would happen. Shiro knew exactly what he was getting into. 

Then again, so did He.

Shiro's phone buzzed quietly on his nightstand, causing Shiro to finally uncurl from the ball he had been in for the last two hours. He reached out and grabbed it, swiping it open to read the full text.

**Keith**

_Hey Shiro, would you mind bringing your charcoals to the college? I left mine at home, and my professor will kill me if I don't have them._

Shiro read the text twice before it finally sunk in what Keith was asking. He sniffed loudly and typed a response, feeling as though he was trying to type in water.

**Shiro**

_**be there soon** _

Shiro put the phone back onto the bedside table and laid in bed for a few more seconds. It was tempting to just text Keith back and tell him that he wouldn't be able to get him the charcoals, and that he would just have to deal with his professor. And yet, there was a voice in his head, telling him to get out of bed. To get dressed and get out of the house for a bit. God knows that Shiro was here too often; he had memorized everything about his bedroom, and the only change he got was whenever he flew into a drunken rage and started throwing stuff around. So for the first time, Shiro finally listened to that voice. 

He pushed the covers off his body and pulled himself from the warmth of his bed.

**x.x.x**

Shiro squinted against the harsh sunlight, raising his prosthetic to block the sun. It had been awhile since Shiro had last been on campus, and apparently enough time had passed that he completely forgot places and where he was right then. He clutched his bag of charcoals closer to his side and turned around, hoping that he could either find his way or find someone who could direct him.

"Oof!"

Someone exclaimed as Shiro collided head on with them, the person falling to the ground. "Oh god, I'm so sorry!" Shiro rushed, instantly leaning down and helping the person up. The man laughed gently and brushed the dirt off his jeans before smiling up at Shiro. "Oh don't worry about it, I'm alright!" Shiro opened his mouth to respond, when his eyes met the stranger's standing before him.

He had beautiful, blue eyes. Eyes as blue as sea staring back into his, his thin lips quirking up into a smile, revealing pearly whites shining at Shiro. He had short, brown hair, poking out from underneath his black baseball cap, fluttering gently in the warm breeze. His skin was the color of sweetened coffee, and his legs went on for miles. 

"Hey Mister, are you alright?"

The man suddenly said, pulling Shiro from his trance. "Shiro." He said quickly, feeling his face heat up as he presented his hand to shake. The man smiled gently and took the hand, giving it a firm pump. "I'm Lance." He answered, an almost sad smile spreading across his features. "Lance." Shiro repeated, feeling the name roll over his tongue. There was something so familiar about that name, about Lance in general.

"Have we met somewhere? I feel like I've met you before."

Lance laughed gently, pulling his hand back and tucking them into his jean jacket. "Do you use that line on everyone you've met?" He teased, his eyes sparkling with an emotion that Shiro couldn't quite name. Shiro cleared his throat and looked to the side in an attempt to be out of the embarrassing gaze that Lance was giving him. "N-no, there's just something about you." Lance chuckled quietly before tilting his head to the side gently. "I get that a lot. But no, I'm afraid that we've never met before. I would have remembered a bod  _that_ hot." Lance gave Shiro a flirtatious wink, making Shiro's ears go pink. It had been far too long since Shiro felt anything like this, and here he was, blushing and stammering like a fool.

"I, I uh-"

"Shiro!"

Shiro turned his head at the sound of his name and saw Keith running towards him, one hand raised in the air to catch his attention. Shiro turned back to Lance, face still pink and smiled sheepishly. "I have to go." He said slowly, reluctantly. Lance just grinned as Keith called Shiro's name again, walking backwards slowly. "I'll see you around Shiro." Lance called before turning around and walking away. Shiro turned to Keith as he caught up to him, panting slightly. 

"Shiro, what were you doing?"

He questioned, leaning forward on his knees. Shiro smiled softly, unsure of himself. "Meeting Lance." He replied, handing Keith the bag of charcoals. Keith looked up at him with confusion resting on his brows. "Lance?" He questioned, making Shiro nod. Shiro turned back to where Lance had walked away, but found that Lance was nowhere in sight.

"I'll never forget that name. Lance."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys liked the chapter, please be sure to leave kudos or a comment (or both!) I love reading comments, they make me feel better :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> I'm SO SORRY this took so long! Life had been really crazy lately, since I just moved and started a new job, and I just didn't have any time. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

Honestly.

Shiro should be used to this; this feeling of hatred, of anger...

He should be used to it.

And yet, as he swirls the amber liquid in the confines of it's crystal cavern, Shiro is still surprised when he feels the all too familiar burning in his chest, in his eyes, in his throat... It's all too familiar, and yet, Shiro still greets it as though it's an unexpected guest.

Shiro stills the swirling motion and takes a sip, his eyes twisting shut as the bitter liquid touches his tongue. It's heart breaking, truly, that he's here, in this place, in this state, and yet, he does absolutely nothing to change.

And Keith.

Oh god, Keith.

If Shiro had been anyone else, he would have pitied Keith. To be stuck taking care of someone who obviously didn't want it. Because Shiro wasn't stupid. He knew Keith was just looking out for him, just trying to help him move past the pain and the hurt that He left, and there was Shiro, kicking, yelling,  _screaming_ that he didn't want to get better. That he would rather suffer for the rest of his life than he would to move on, to forget.

To live.

Because honestly. If anyone didn't deserve to live, it was Shiro. If anyone  _did_ deserve to live, it was Him.

And He was resting six feet underground, while Shiro drank his life away.

Shiro had to stifle a laugh at that. The universe had a funny way of working, and now was no different. It was the universe that brought them together, and it was the universe that tore them apart. 

Poor Keith.

Shiro would really have to apologize for his outburst at the restaurant. 

For now though, Shiro shot the rest of that bitter liquid down and pretended that everything was okay.

**x.x.x**

Shiro was back on campus.

Really, it was the only way he could get Keith to talk to him; Keith had been completely silent ever since Shiro's outburst at the restaurant, save for the one time last week that he had texted him, and that was only to ask if he could borrow Shiro's charcoals.

Shiro knew he had acted like a child. He knew that his outburst had been completely unfair, and that it was completely unwarranted. There was nothing that could excuse Shiro's behavior, not even his grief. 

Still, he couldn't get Keith to text him back. It felt weird, not hearing from his little brother for a few days. At first Shiro had been relieved; now he was just concerned. 

"Hey there mister!"

A cheery voice suddenly said, Shiro instantly turning to it's owner. It was that cute boy he ran into last week, Landon? Lawrence?

"Shiro? Shiro, it's me, Lance!"

Lance. Right. Shiro vowed right then never to forget that name again.

"Lance, right. What's up?"

"Well, you were standing there with this weird look on your face, like you were constipated. I had to come check on you. What are you doing here?" 

Shiro smiled sheepishly, ears pink at the analogy to his face. He cleared his throat and tucked his hands into his pockets, nervous, for some strange reason. "I'm trying to catch my little brother as he comes out of class." 

Lance grins and tips forward on his tip toes, clutching the straps of his back pack. "Ah, well, Mullet doesn't come out of class for another half hour. You might want to take a seat, else your beautiful legs will start cramping."

Pink dusts over Lance's nose, barely visible under the dark pigment of his skin. His smile is bright and warm, and Shiro finds himself smiling back, despite himself. There was something about this guy. 

"Yeah, well, I think you might be right about that." Shiro laughs, walking over to a nearby bench and sitting down. "Would you like to join me?" 

Lance lights up for a split second and then quickly deflates, his head hanging slightly. 

"I'd love to, but I have another class I have got to get to in five minutes. Rain check though?"

Shiro laughs and nods. "Rain check. I'll be holding you to that." Lance grins, his nails digging into the strap of his bag.

"I hope you do. Bye Shiro."

"Goodbye Lance."

Lance gives a small wave and then walks away, Shiro watching for a second before looking away. He was really hoping to catch Keith soon...

"Wait, how did Lance remember my name?"

Shiro wonders aloud, looking back at the direction Lance had walked to, but found it empty of the man he was looking for. Shiro shrugged and turned back around, his fingers drumming on his leg as he pulled out his phone to kill time.

Maybe he's just a nice guy.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr! https://fiction-is-my-diction.tumblr.com/


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